Escaping Soviet Hell
by SmarticleParticle
Summary: The Baltic states have finally summoned up the courage to leave the Soviet Union, but Ivan won't let them go easily...
1. Chapter 1

It started in the winter of 1989. At first, there was just a flicker of rebellion in Toris's eyes, the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could escape this Soviet hell. He cultivated this hope cautiously, caring for it like a seedling that would soon blossom. He had to be careful, pick the right time to allow it to flourish.

Soon enough, his time came.

* * *

Toris watched his Russian boss out of the corner of his eye as he washed the dishes. The large man was slumped at the kitchen table, resting his head in one hand, holding an unlit cigarette in the other. His violet eyes matched the purple shadows underneath them, and his beige hair was unwashed and lifeless. He sighed for the umpteenth time that morning.

Toris was no longer afraid of his boss. Who would be scared of a wreck like Ivan?

It wasn't that the Russian was weak; Toris had no doubt that Ivan could still crush his skull in an instant, if he wanted to.

The problem was, he just couldn't be bothered to torment Toris and the other Baltics anymore. The Lithuanian knew it was wrong, but he almost missed the old Ivan. The dark aura that surrounded him was no longer one of menace but of despair. In truth, it unnerved him a little. When would Ivan throw off his facade and go back to being his old, tyrannical self?

Toris refused to take that chance. He had to leave while he could.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Braginsky?" he asked after he had finished the washing up.

"Nyet," Ivan replied, attempting to take a long drag on his cigarette and scowling when he remembered it was unlit. "And I told you to call me Ivan, da?"

Toris wrung his hands together. "Sorry, sir. I guess I'll go to bed now, then. Do you mind?"

"Nyet."

Toris hung his apron up on the hook by the stove. He smiled to himself; today was the last day he would be wearing that damn thing. "Goodnight, Ivan," he said quietly, before half-running upstairs to his bedroom.

* * *

"Toris? What are you doing?"

The Lithuanian froze for a moment, then relaxed when he realised who it was. He turned around and grinned. "Oh, Eduard," he sighed. "I thought you were someone else."

"You're leaving us, then," Eduard stated, staring at the suitcase Toris had been stuffing with warm clothes.

The Lithuanian avoided Eduard's gaze. "Yes, and I think you should as well. Raivis too." He stood up and grasped both of Eduard's hands in his own. "Come with me, Eduard," he pleaded. "You've seen the state Mr. Braginsky's in—he probably won't even notice we've gone. If he does, I don't think he'll chase us. He doesn't seem to care about anything anymore. I'm running away and there's nothing he can do about it."

Eduard gazed into Toris's baby-blue eyes. They reminded him of the sky—of flying and freedom. He smiled slightly. "I can't leave, Toris—not yet. Braginsky's more likely to go after us if we all leave at once. Raivis and I will stay here to cover for you, and then we'll run away together."

Toris threw his arms around Eduard's neck, who patted his back awkwardly, before returning the hug. "When are you leaving?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

Toris broke away from his friend, zipping up his suitcase and pushing it under the bed, well out of sight. "Tonight."

* * *

BONG!

_One._

BONG!

_Two._

BONG!

_Three._

Toris lay in the dark, not quite believing that three o'clock had arrived so fast. He glanced over at his two sleeping friends. He wished he had had a chance to say goodbye to the little Latvian, but he couldn't take the risk. If he knew where Toris had gone, he was bound to let something slip. It wasn't the kid's fault, he was just naturally spacey.

Toris sighed and picked up his suitcase.

He crept through the silent mansion. By now, he had learned where most of the squeaky floorboards were, and he made it downstairs without making a sound. The trembling man wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. If Mr. Braginsky caught him...

He shook his head, refusing to dwell on all the horrible things that could happen to him. There were more important things to worry about, like picking the lock on the kitchen window without waking his boss up.

After an agonising minute, he heard the lock spring. From there, the window opened surprisingly easily and it was little effort for the young man to throw his suitcase outside and climb out after it.

Toris spared one last glance up at the enormous house. It seemed black and hulking against the background of stars and snowflakes. The Lithuanian would not miss it one bit.

"Goodbye, Mr. Braginsky," he whispered before turning and running off into the snowy Russian night.

He did not notice the pale figure watching him from the window of the master bedroom.

* * *

**A/N: This is another story that I posted to DeviantArt, so I thought I'd post it here too. ^^ It's not meant to be completely historically accurate, but I've tried to write about how the nations would deal with the breakup of the USSR as people. However, I've stuck to the order the Baltics left the USSR in. :)**

**x~SmarticleParticle~x**


	2. Chapter 2

Ivan sat in the armchair by the window, watching the sun rise over the wilderness. His knees were tucked up against his body, and he rested his chin on his knees. A thousand questions swirled in his mind.

_How far has Toris got?_

Is he dead?

Did he see me watching him?

Does he hate me?

Ivan shuddered at the last question, discarding it like an empty vodka bottle. He couldn't blame Toris for hating him; he had every right to, considering everything the Russian had done to hurt him—deliberately or not. Even so, he hoped that Toris didn't completely hate him. It was a selfish thought, but he wanted to be forgiven.

There was a quiet knock on the door.

"Da, come in," Ivan called.

He heard the door open and saw Eduard's reflection in the window, carrying a tray with Ivan's breakfast on it.

The Russian felt a lump rise in his throat. That was Toris's job.

"Mr. Braginsky, sir. You didn't come down for breakfast. Toris is ill today, so he won't—"

"Do not lie to me, Eduard. I know where he has gone." It was restrained tears that made Ivan's voice taut, but Eduard didn't know that.

_Oh dear God, he's angry._ He started to tremble. _Oh dear._

Ivan watched Eduard's reflection as it quaked, and his face softened. He stood and walked towards the Estonian, whose trembling increased.

_Oh my God, I'm going to die._

Ivan reached up, and Eduard had to use all of his self-control to avoid flinching away. That would only make Ivan more furious.

_He's going to slap me like I'm his bitch or something!_

Ivan gently rested his hand on Eduard's head, ruffling his sandy hair. The Russian smiled sadly, before taking the tray from the Baltic.

"Thank you, Eduard," he said softly. "You may go now."

"Th-thank you, sir!" Eduard squeaked, before turning and scurrying out of the room.

_Now that was weird._

* * *

The sun had now fully risen over the horizon. Ivan remained in his chair, unmoving and silent. His breakfast had been forgotten, and the tea was stone cold.

The Russian knew what was going to happen. He knew how close Toris and Eduard had been, and it wouldn't be long before the Estonian followed his friend and left. He would probably take Raivis with him.

And then Ivan would be all alone.

Ivan didn't like the thought of that.

He had to do something.

* * *

"Quiet now, Raivis. If Mr. Braginsky hears us he'll kill us both, got it?

"Yes, b-but—"

"Shh!"

The two escapees gripped each other's arms for comfort as they crept down the dark hallway, staying close to the walls for guidance. Eduard gripped two small satchels of clothes and supplies in his clammy hands. They were nearly there; he could almost taste freedom. Still, he couldn't get ahead of himself. Things could go wrong yet.

Raivis looked up at what he could see of his friend's face. He would trust Eduard with his life; the brainy Estonian always seemed to know what to do, had a solution to every problem.

Still, Raivis couldn't help but be scared out of his wits.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Every draught that blew through the corridors turned to whispers in his ear. Every shadow on the wall morphed into a grotesque pipe-wielding monster. Every pinprick of light from inside a room became violet eyes glaring out from the darkness.

Raivis clung to Eduard a little bit tighter.

"Alright, we're here," Eduard murmured a few minutes later, setting the suitcases down on the floor.

"We're using the front door?" Raivis hissed. "But we don't have a key!"

"Except we do," Eduard allowed himself a triumphant grin. "Because I stole one."

Raivis's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "You stole from Mr. Braginsky? If he finds out, he'll—"

"He won't find out, because we're leaving. Right now."

"I do not think so."

Raivis's blood turned to ice. He turned on his heel, only to come face-to-face with Ivan himself.

"Shit," Eduard breathed as he flung the door open. "Run, Raivis!" he screamed before bolting out into the night.

The Latvian took a step forward, but a huge gloved hand clamped over his mouth and nose so Eduard couldn't hear him scream.

"Nyet! I will not let you go—I refuse to be alone! Understand?"

The terrified boy squirmed in Ivan's iron grasp, tears spilling from his eyes. He could just make out Eduard's lone figure as he vaulted over the garden fence.

Raivis began to sob against Ivan's leather glove. Spots danced in front of his eyes from the lack of air.

Ivan pulled the Latvian close to his chest, almost hugging him. "Shh, Raivis. I do not wish to hurt you."

That was the last thing he heard before he passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: Teeny tiny bit of violence and blood.**

* * *

Raivis was drowning. He thrashed and kicked, but his limbs were pinned to his sides, save for one hand which reached above the water, an invisible cry for help.

He woke up, panting. There was no water; he was not drowning. However, he was entangled in three layers of blankets and one very strong pair of arms.

Raivis glanced over his shoulder. He lay in the arms of a man who, in his eyes, could only be described as a monster. His sleeping face made him look harmless—sweet even—but Raivis knew the truth. Ivan was cruel.

As if he was eavesdropping on the Latvian's thoughts, Ivan's violet eyes flickered open. The Russian smiled.

"Good morning, Raivis," he said in his low voice.

"G-good morning, sir," Raivis answered. He tried to wriggle out of Ivan's grasp, but he realised with shock that his left hand had been chained to the bedpost.

"Did you sleep well?" Ivan beamed, apparently oblivious to Raivis's terror.

"I-I guess?"

"Ah, good." Ivan's smile grew, if that were possible. "You see, I was worried you would be cold, so I had you in bed with me. You are so thin, I thought my body heat would help."

"Oh." Raivis paused for a moment. Perhaps Ivan really had been trying to help him—his bedroom _was_ always freezing. He shook his head. "S-so why am I chained to the bed?"

"Oh, that." Ivan's face darkened suddenly. "With Toris and Eduard gone, you are the only one I have left. I cannot let you get away. That would leave me all alone, and I will not allow that."

Raivis jiggled the chain. The handcuff was cutting into the soft skin of his wrist, and the metal was old and rusty. He didn't even want to think about why Ivan kept handcuffs in his house.

"Since I cannot trust you to stay with me, little Raivis," Ivan said from behind him, "I am afraid I will have to keep you by my side at all times."

Ivan was a man of his word. Raivis spent the day under the Russian's constant gaze, never more than a few metres away from him. He wasn't always being dragged around by the chain—he and Ivan had spent at least two hours locked in the latter's office (with the key safely in Ivan's pocket, of course). That hadn't been so bad—the study was cosy, with its roaring hearth and deep carpets. Ivan had let the boy read some of the dusty poetry books he kept stacked on untouched shelves, and had even agreed to play a few games of chess to pass the time.

Even so, Raivis wanted to go home.

Ivan's paranoia was starting to wear him out. The large Russian was forever glancing outside for signs of a rescue party for Raivis. He would get up every few minutes, cross the room and check the corridor, presumably for his crazy sister. A few times, he even peered into the empty cabinet by his desk, although Raivis could not fathom what might be hiding in there.

Raivis remembered when he was growing up, how everyone was terrified of the huge, cold loner in the East. Yet here he was, checking his cupboards for monsters. It was sad, really.

Raivis glanced up from the book he was reading. Ivan was preoccupied with the snow outside, apparently in deep thought.

_I wonder,_ the Latvian mused. _How long would it take for him to miss me?_

Eduard shielded his eyes against the bright lights of Tallinn's Old Town. It was dark, but the lights from the houses splashed golden puddles on the cobbles. He smiled at the familiarity of home; the narrow streets, the tightly-packed houses with red roofs and the castle in the distance. It was good to be back.

He staggered to his front door, feet aching for miles and miles of walking. The door opened easily, like it was welcoming him home. He flicked on the lights and leaned against the wall.

_What have I done?_

He pictured little Raivis, cowering alone in Ivan's shadow. What was the bastard doing to him right now? Eduard's runaway imagination made him want to retch.

His eyes fell on the dusty telephone on the wall. He picked up the receiver and dialled the number he knew so well.

_Please pick up_ _please pick up please pick up—_

"_Hello?"_ The familiar voice—sounding so much stronger now—made Eduard breathe a sigh of relief. His brother was OK.

"Toris! It's me, I'm safe!"

"_Eduard?"_ Toris's shock and relief were obvious, eve over the phone. _"Are you alright? Where's Raivis, is he with you?"_

"Ah. Well, you see, that's my problem." Eduard pushed his glasses up his nose.

There was a pause. _"You left him."_

Eduard flinched at the accusation. "I didn't mean to!" He cried defensively. "We tried to escape together, but Ivan—he—I—"

"_Eduard, calm down. Right now, Raivis is alone with Ivan. Lord knows what kind of trouble he's in."_

"I know, but—"

"_Are you at home?"_

"Yes."

"_I'm on my way. Be ready to leave when I show up."_

Eduard caught on quickly. "We can't rescue Raivis on our own! Ivan—"

"_Look, Raivis may not be our blood brother, but it sure as hell feels like it. And we are going to get our brother out of there."_

"But what if we're too late?" The Estonian's voice was very small.

"_We won't be_," Toris said firmly. "_Raivis is a smart kid. He'll be fine."_

"_Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya!_

_V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!"_

Raivis sat at the kitchen table, hands folded. The chain lay on the sideboard, but the kitchen door was locked. He could see the outline of the key in Ivan's pocket.

The Russian bustled around the messy kitchen as if it were a completely normal day. The heady smell of cooking pirozhki stifled the air and steamed up the windows. Although Raivis had never really liked Russian food, the scent made his mouth water. He was starving, and it was no secret that Ivan was a fantastic cook.

"You know, Raivis," Ivan began, half turning towards him, "did I tell you that having you here makes me very happy?"

"Uh, no," said Raivis. "I don't think you did."

"Well da, it does." Ivan's eyes closed as he smiled. He walked over to the Latvian and ruffled his curly brown hair, before returning to the stove. He was still singing at top note, and Raivis had to admit that the man had a lovely bass voice.

Still, he would much rather be at home, listening to Latvian folk songs.

He glanced over to the cupboard behind him. He knew only too well what it contained. That was Ivan's personal storage cupboard, and Raivis had been cleaning it once a week for more years than he cared to remember.

On the top shelf were four rows of vodka bottles. They were all plain except for a vanilla one at the back, and were arranged in order of age. The second shelf contained three of Ivan's best military overcoats, spotless and crisply ironed by Toris. On top of them lay an old, stiff leather whip, coiled up like a snake. Raivis had never seen Ivan use it.

Then, there was the bottom shelf. The one where Ivan kept the lead pipe. Now _that_ was frequently used. No matter how hard Raivis scrubbed, the bloodstains always stayed.

Raivis turned his gaze back to his Russian boss. Ivan had stopped cooking, and was standing completely still. He appeared to be staring at the falling snow outside, but the Latvian could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere.

_He's been doing that a lot lately,_ the boy thought, _just stopping and staring into space._

This was it.

He stood up slowly, making sure his chair didn't scrape against the ceramic-tiled floor. He managed to tiptoe to the cupboard and open it with just a small creak, which Ivan was too wrapped up in himself to notice. From there, it was only too easy to grab the cold metal pipe and creep up behind Ivan.

Raivis tightened his clammy grip on the pipe, doing his best to avoid touching the crusted bloodstains. He didn't dare think about who they might belong to.

He raised the pipe above his head. It wasn't too late to turn back. He could put the pipe away now and Ivan would never know.

_No,_ he scolded himself. _This is what I have to do. I have wanted this for a long time._

He swung the pipe at Ivan's head.

There was a crack.

Blood splattered on his clean shirt.

Ivan came crashing to the floor.

Raivis stepped away, panting. Ivan twitched slightly, then he opened his eyes. A tear slipped out of one.

Then came the noise that haunted Raivis's nightmares. The boy began to tremble.

_Kolkolkolkol..._

With a piercing scream, Raivis swung the pipe again—

And again—

And again—

There was more blood, so much blood. This time, Ivan did not wake up.

Raivis had never noticed how painful the cold was. It tore at his dry skin and the wind ripped at his hair. His tears nearly froze to his face.

_I killed him. He's dead, I'm sure of it._

Raivis sniffed. How many people had been killed with that same pipe? He supposed that, when it came down to it, he was no better than Ivan.

He hugged himself and shuddered, cursing himself for forgetting to pick up a coat.

Raivis kept his eyes fixed on the snowy road, seeing the headlights of a car falling in front of him. He thought about hiding by the roadside, but he really couldn't be bothered.

The car pulled up next to him.

_Now_ he was worried. Raivis kept on walking, keeping his head turned away from the car.

"Raivis. It's us."

He knew that voice, though it seemed like he hadn't heard it in a long time.

"Toris!" he cried, shielding his eyes against the bright lights of Toris's 4x4. He ran up to it and peered inside. Toris rolled the window down fully and leaned out, Eduard looking out from the passenger's seat.

"Raivis, I'm so sorry," Eduard began, but Toris held a finger up to silence him.

"Save it for later, Eduard," he said. "Let's get Raivis home."

* * *

**A/N: It's been what... one month? Two? I'm so sorry orz. There's one more chapter to go, which I'm working on now. '^^**

**A few things I might need to explain:**

**-I think Eduard would live in Tallinn Old Town, maybe not permanently though. It just seems to me like the nations would live in the city close to their government's HQ, but would also have a second-home type thing where they can blend in but be close to their culture. Just a headcanon of mine.**

**-The song Ivan is singing is called "Kalinka" and is a Russian folk song. I'm sure a lot of you have heard it, but there's several versions on Youtube if you haven't. And the guy who composed it is called Ivan. Like whooooaaaaaa.**

**-Pirozhki is a kind of pie thing from Russia. I've never actually eaten it, but it's usually stuffed with meat and veg, but you can get sweeter varieties. A bit like a Cornish pasty, but not a Cornish pasty. **


End file.
